


Must Be Good

by unbecomings



Series: Runnin' Down A Dream [2]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-11 11:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbecomings/pseuds/unbecomings
Summary: Christen is the soulmate Tobin never asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I liked writing the Rose/Lindsey version of this so much that it turned into a series, oops.

Tobin doesn’t really pay attention to rumors. Truthfully, Tobin doesn’t pay attention to much when she’s not on the field. Tobin barely pays attention in church. She loves being in church, but not because she’s listening to the sermon necessarily, or has any idea what’s going on around her, it’s the atmosphere. That’s how Kelley described her once at a party when she visited Stanford during their overlapping spring breaks: ‘Tobin’s _atmospheric_.’ It sounded cool, and Tobin felt cool.

She doesn’t pay attention to rumors. Whenever anyone speculates about the Olympics and what the squad will look like, she checks out immediately. It’s partially self-preservation and partially just how she is. So when they get close to camp that spring to start with the friendlies and the pre-Olympics ramping up, she’s not thinking about much other than what she needs to work on if she wants to play in London. 

The night before she’s set to leave New York to meet up with the team, she unwraps her ankle and ices it. She reads her favorite Bible verses and falls asleep with her headphones in even though she knows she’ll wake up with them tangled and one of these days it’s going to ruin them. She does everything pretty much the same as she always does. 

And then she falls asleep and everything is different.

-

She’s on a soccer field. There’s no ball, so she’s standing at the 18 staring at the goal, trying to orient herself. Something’s really off, like the light is too harsh. She has no idea where, specifically, she is.

“Where’s the ball?” someone asks, and Tobin jumps, twisting around to find that she’s not alone. 

She definitely knows this girl. She’s definitely seen this girl somewhere.

“I don’t have it,” Tobin says, and then she says, “I know you, right?”

The other girl is around Tobin’s height. She looks like she walked out of a magazine, only she’s the kind of pretty that Tobin’s never seen in a magazine, with long, dark hair and green eyes and skin tanner than Tobin’s will ever be, no matter how many days she spends surfing. 

“Well,” the other girl says, “_I_ know _you_.”

“You were one of Kelley’s teammates,” Tobin realizes out loud. She’s still making the connection, flashing back to every time she’d ever played Stanford or gone to a party with Kelley, when the other girl--Christen, she thinks--crosses her arms.

“I’m your soulmate,” she says.

“Oh shit,” Tobin says.

She wakes up in a cold sweat, kicking frantically until her blanket is on the floor. She can hear her parents snoring in the bedroom upstairs. Down the hall Jeffrey is probably still up playing Call of Duty; her alarm clock reads just past one in the morning, which means she needs to be up in four hours. She’s drowsy enough that it takes a while for her to make the connection: Christen like Christen Press, like Hermann Trophy Winner Christen Press, like 2011 WPS Rookie Of The Year Christen Press. Tobin _does_ know her. Well, Tobin knows of her. Not enough to have recognized her by her face immediately, but enough that her heart is racing now, lying awake in her bed, realizing that God has paired them up for reasons far beyond her comprehension.

She has a feeling that it’s not going to make sense when she wakes up, either. She tells herself over and over again that God wouldn’t give her something she couldn’t handle, much less a _girl_ she couldn’t handle. When she thinks about it she remembers they’ve played on development teams together, but that Christen was always on the periphery of Tobin’s circle. Tobin’s circle, which was almost always just her and a soccer ball. Unraveling the mess that is her dream about Christen will have to wait, though--it’s April, and they’re gearing up for the 2012 Olympics, and Tobin doesn’t have space in her head to think about anything other than making it to London. If Christen is really her soulmate, then Christen will still be around when Tobin has time to find her.

When she falls back asleep, she doesn’t dream. 

-

Tobin does not think about Christen. She doesn’t think about Christen in the security line at the airport. She doesn’t think about Christen on the plane. She doesn’t hope that Christen is napping while she’s napping and she doesn’t wake up when she lands disappointed that Christen wasn’t in her dream again. She is steadfastly not thinking about Christen Press when she arrives at the airport, at the gate where she’s supposed to meet her teammates, and sees Christen Press.

Christen is standing with Kelley, who is talking excitedly, a mile a minute. Christen has clearly already noticed Tobin--Tobin, who had her headphones in and was thinking about literally anything else--and when they make eye contact she takes one look at the surprise on Tobin’s face and looks away immediately. Tobin snaps her mouth closed as soon as she realizes it had fallen open, but she knows she looked like an idiot. More than usual.

Kelley notices her, finally, and waves Tobin over. Tobin can’t avoid going over without making it obvious that something is up, so she shuffles towards them, stuffing her headphones in her pocket.

“Sup,” she says, and Kelley rocks up onto her toes to hug her around her neck. Tobin gives Kelley a lackluster hug back that she knows she’s going to get shit for later. She’s looking at Christen again, and Christen is meeting her gaze this time, but her expression is unnervingly neutral. 

“Tobs,” Kelley says, “you know Christen, right?”

“For sure,” Tobin says.

“Not really,” Christen says at the same time. Kelley pulls back from hugging Tobin and gives Christen a weird look that Tobin feels responsible for. 

“I’m so excited you’re here,” Kelley says, turning back to Christen to squeeze her hand, “you deserve it.”

The second that Amy and Lauren appear, Tobin bails on Kelley and Christen, and she bails _hard_. Lucky for her Kelley is so wrapped up in Christen being there that she doesn’t seem to notice, but Christen does. Tobin gets the feeling that Christen notices everything. It’s hard for Tobin to believe Christen is really real, really there, even once they all pile onto a bus together and she can see the back of Christen’s head three rows ahead of her. Lauren bumps Tobin’s knee with hers and Tobin tears her gaze away. 

“You good?” Lauren asks, and Tobin hesitates. Lauren is one of the only people she knows who already knows her soulmate. Jrue isn’t a girl or a soccer player or a teammate. Lauren wouldn’t get it. Tobin doesn’t even get it. 

“Tired,” she says, which is true. 

“You’ll wake up on the field,” Lauren says, which is also true. 

-

Tobin wakes up on the field. Unfortunately, so does Christen. She’s not just good. Tobin remembers that, vaguely, from WPS games, now that she’s made the connection. Competing with and against other national team players, Christen is better than good. Tobin perches on a water cooler and watches Christen dart around Christie and curl a shot into the upper right corner of Jill’s net, and feels a sudden, hot surge of fear. 

Christen could replace her. Easily. 

“She might be good if she learns to pass,” Alex grumbles from beside her, and that’s when Tobin knows she’s _really_ screwed. If Alex feels threatened, nobody is safe. 

“Be nice,” Kelley says. 

“She your girlfriend or something?” Alex teases, and it’s definitely just a joke, just her being jealous of how Christen has caught everyone’s eye, but Tobin’s stomach still twists. Christen can’t be anyone’s girlfriend. Christen’s _her_ soulmate. 

Kelley doesn’t seem to think it’s funny either; her expression darkens and for a second Tobin’s afraid they’re actually going to fight about it, but then Kelley smiles and Alex laughs and everything is fine again. It’s at least comforting that Christen puts everyone else on edge, too. And, come to think of it, it doesn’t matter if Christen has a girlfriend or a boyfriend or anything else because Tobin doesn’t want to date her anyway. They don’t have to date just because they’re soulmates. And they definitely don’t have to date right now. There’s plenty of people who do that, or at least some. 

At dinner Christen puts her plate down next to Tobin’s and Tobin’s stomach does that thing again. Kelley sits on Christen’s other side and Alex sits across from them, and Kelley and Alex bicker like an old married couple while Tobin hears none of it. She doesn’t know if Christen is listening. Christen _looks_ like she’s listening, and she doesn’t look at Tobin at all, even when she moves her leg and their knees touch for a few seconds. Tobin moves away, and only then does Christen glance up and make eye contact with her. Christen looks away almost immediately, but Tobin still feels guilty. That night before she sleeps, she prays to dream about Christen again so that she can apologize for being weird all day. 

Somehow it doesn’t occur to her that she could have just apologized in person.

-

Whether it’s because Tobin prayed for it or not, this one feels like _her_ dream. She knows where she is when she gets there. Growing up she used to sneak into her neighbor’s yard and climb a tree right on the edge of the forest that none of them were supposed to get into. She’s in the tree and Christen’s on the ground, looking up.

Neither of them says anything for a few seconds. Tobin opens her mouth to say hi but Christen beats her to it.

“Are you going to come down,” she asks, “or should I come up?”

“You don’t have to come up,” Tobin says, but Christen is already climbing the tree. She settles in a cradle of branches a foot or two below Tobin, cross her arms again, and waits.

“Sorry,” Tobin says, “I was so weird today.”

“Today was weird,” Christen says, and it takes a few seconds for Tobin to realize that’s Christen forgiving her.

“You didn’t know I was going to be here,” Christen observes, and Tobin pulls her knees to her chest.

“I don’t read stuff like that,” Tobin says.

“Like the roster?” Christen asks incredulously, and Tobin shrugs, feeling defensive. 

“It stresses me out,” she says, “all I need to know is if I’m going or not. Otherwise I get in my head and I don’t play my best.”

Christen backs off immediately. She breaks eye contact and nods, and Tobin feels free, just for a few seconds, to really look at her. Christen isn’t much taller than her, but she has good posture so she seems like she’s six feet tall half the time. She’s stunningly pretty, much prettier than any girl Tobin’s ever tried to flirt with. The girls that Tobin pursues are cute or hot but not pretty, not beautiful, and Christen has these high cheekbones and long eyelashes that make her look like a storybook princess hiding among normal people in athletic wear.

Tobin is not the kind of girl that someone like Christen would go for. Christen probably dates Ivy League girls who are smart enough to keep up with her and pretty enough to look right standing next to her. Christen, Tobin thinks, probably dates girls like Kelley.

“I really am sorry,” Tobin says. 

“Don’t be,” Christen says, “we’ll figure it out. I’m sure people have been teammates and soulmates before.”

Tobin really wishes Christen would stop saying that out loud. 

“I don’t know if I want to figure it out,” Tobin blurts. 

Christen doesn’t even look surprised. It makes Tobin sad and almost annoys her a little bit that she gets next to no reaction from Christen at all, except that Christen stares at her with unnervingly gray eyes until Tobin elaborates. 

“Right now,” Tobin says, “I don’t want that right now. I don’t know what I’ll want later. But right now I just want to play soccer. I just want to go to London and win.”

“I do too,” Christen says, “more than anything.”

Her voice is soft. Tobin inexplicably wants to hug her, to drop down to the lower branch and find out if you can even touch someone in a dream. 

“So you get it,” Tobin says eagerly, “of course you get it.”

Christen looks away when she answers: “I get it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In London, Kelley's there when Tobin isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all your lovely comments! I'm glad you're enjoying it and even if I don't reply (life is a bit hectic atm) I read them all and smile, I promise.
> 
> Kelley and Christen really did dance like that in London, there's a video that I can't find right now but I know it exists.

Tobin makes the Olympic roster. 

Christen doesn’t. 

She’s been giving Tobin as much space as she can since the second dream, and she hasn’t dreamt about Tobin again since then. For the first few days even seeing Tobin made her want to throw up, but she got over it. She _does_ get it, she wasn’t lying, and if she came on too strong and scared Tobin off it’s not Tobin’s fault, it’s hers. She refused to bring it up to anyone until she misses out on the roster for London, and by then she has something new to cry about. 

“You’re still coming,” Kelley tells her, “you’re still part of the team.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better about it,” Christen begs, and Kelley doesn’t, but she doesn’t leave, either. She falls asleep on Christen’s couch with her socked feet stuck between the cushions and Christen throws a blanket over Kelley before she goes to bed, cried-out and feeling sorry for herself. She knows she’ll wake up and turn that feeling into hard work, because she doesn’t know any other way to be and she wasn’t built for wallowing. But tonight, just for tonight, she’ll let herself wallow. 

Of course, then she dreams about Tobin again. 

They’re in her Stanford dorm room. It was always a little spartan, but Christen never noticed it until Tobin sat in the center of her bed, cross-legged, with her tousled hair and bright green t-shirt. Christen is always embarrassed in front of Tobin, but it’s worse here, like this, in a space that’s supposed to be hers. And in her _head_. Every time they dream together from now on they’re just going to be reminded that they’re soulmates and Tobin doesn’t want them to be. It’s frustrating for Christen, who has spent the past month and some change trying to forget.

“Hey,” Tobin says. She looks surprised, and that’s frustrating, too.

“Guess this is going to keep happening,” Christen says. She leans against her desk; joining Tobin on the bed would be loaded and she wants to keep as much distance between them as possible, even though they’re not physically in the same space. Tobin places her hands on her knees and Christen does not watch the way she splays out her fingers.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Tobin asks, and she’s asking a genuine question, Christen can tell. She doesn’t get it. Christen wonders, not for the first time, if Tobin is capable of comprehending anything the way she gets soccer, or even half as well as that. She doubts it.

Christen really doesn’t want to explain it to her. She doesn’t answer right away, and Tobin avoids her eyes during the silence, looking around the room instead. 

“I’m glad you’re coming to London,” Tobin says. It’s the worst thing she could possibly say, especially because she says it so flippantly, like it’s a normal, nice thing to say. Christen stiffens and Tobin notices and immediately panics. She opens her mouth to speak but Christen cuts her off. 

“You don’t have to try to make me feel better about it,” Christen says, “it’s not going to happen.”

“I don’t feel bad for you,” Tobin says. 

It’s exactly what she needed to hear from Kelley. Tobin blushes, thinking she’s fucked up, probably, but actually Christen appreciates it. She doesn’t want anyone to feel bad for her. She especially doesn’t need _Tobin_ to pity her, so it’s nice to hear that she doesn’t. 

“I mean-“ Tobin starts, flustered, and Christen saves her from herself. 

“I’m glad at least one person doesn’t,” Christen says, and Tobin smiles at her, unsure. It drives Christen crazy, the shy little smile at the corner of Tobin’s mouth, because it makes her feel like Tobin is trying really hard. And the last time they dreamt like this Tobin had explicitly said she didn’t want to do that. Actually, Christen isn’t sure if she’s ever seen Tobin try hard. Even soccer seems to come easily to her, like a second language rather than an athletic feat. 

“I want to be friends,” Tobin says, “can we be friends?”

Christen really thinks about it. She even goes to the bed to sit on the edge, only a foot or so away from Tobin. In the dream she can still feel the magnetism she feels in real life, the urge to rest her head on Tobin’s shoulder or reach for her hand. 

“No,” she says eventually, “I don’t think we can.”

Tobin doesn’t say anything, and Christen feels compelled to fill the silence. She clears her throat and stares resolutely at nothing when she speaks, knowing that looking at Tobin will just make her blush. 

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” she says. 

“Well we don’t have that much in common, I guess,” Tobin allows. It’s true, but also, Christen realizes she doesn’t know all that much about Tobin’s life. All she knows is that Tobin plays soccer like someone composing a musical and Tobin has decided she likes her life without Christen mixed into it. 

“It’s not that,” Christen says. She’s hoping Tobin won’t make her explain. Just this once she really needs Tobin to just _get_ it. 

“Oh,” Tobin says. When Christen nods vaguely, folding her hands in her lap, Tobin repeats herself. “Oh.”

“Well,” Christen says, “you know where to find me.”

She looks up just before the dream ends, and when she wakes the image of Tobin haunts her. She spends a long time reimagining the expression on Tobin’s face and trying to analyze the exact emotion behind Tobin’s kicked-puppy dog eyes. Tobin, Christen reminds herself, chose this. 

-

Kelley doesn’t really leave. It’s like she knows Christen can’t bear to be alone. In the lead up to their trip to London Kelley is always by her side, and it takes Christen a while to bother to look past being grateful for it. It’s not until they land in London, Christen having spent the flight next to Pinoe mostly silent, that Christen realizes anything is different. Kelley stands with her at baggage claim and tucks her hand into the pocket of Christen’s sweatpants while they wait. She’s half asleep and the line of her airplane pillow is still pressed into her cheek and the gesture is so casual that Christen lets her mind wander. 

Tobin is Christen’s soulmate. In theory, Kelley is someone’s soulmate, too. They’ve never spoken about it, but Christen is sure that Kelley hadn’t had her dream yet, because Kelley isn’t the kind of person to fuck around. She’d be _engaged_ by now. So, Christen’s soulmate doesn’t want her and Kelley’s doesn’t know her, and Kelley has her hand tucked into Christen’s sweats and Christen can see herself reaching out to trace the line of Kelley’s jaw with her fingers, tucking her tag back into her collar. She doesn’t do it, but she could. 

The thing is, Kelley is going to play here, in London. And Christen is still a part of the team, enough that she would never fuck with the chemistry, especially not someone so important. A lot of their success hinges on how well Kelley can adapt to defense this tournament. They all know it, whether they talk about it or not. But the idea of Kelley, of letting herself imagine being close to someone again, doesn’t go away. 

Sydney is her roommate. Sydney, who has not had her dream yet and talks about it constantly, as if it’s easier to think about than the games. Christen tries to be nice about it until Sydney rolls onto her stomach, props her chin in her hands, and fixes Christen with a too-interested stars. Christen focuses more closely on her crossword puzzle and says nothing even thought she can tell Sydney is waiting for her to crack. 

“Have you had your dream?” Sydney asks, and Christen pokes a hole through the page with her pen by accident. 

“Isn’t that taboo to ask?” Christen says. It is. She’d never even ask _Kelley_, for God’s sake. 

“Yeah,” Sydney says, “but who gives a fuck about taboos?”

Christen considers her options. Eventually she takes a deep breath, and the high road. 

“It’s not that black and white for everyone,” she says. She’s expecting Sydney to want clarification, or to tell her that’s bullshit. Instead, Sydney is quiet. 

“I never thought of that,” she says. 

“There are lots of people who can’t make sense of the dreams,” Christen says, “or people who choose not to be with the person they dream about for whatever reason, or people who can’t.”

Sydney is smart enough not to ask whether Christen is one of those. Christen realizes that Sydney probably does think she’s got a tragic story, but she’s okay with that. Actually, it’s weirdly vindicating that Sydney looks sad for her, because Christen doesn’t have to explain but at least someone sort of knows how sad _she_ is, and that it’s not about soccer.

“I bet a lot of those people get to be happy anyway,” Sydney says, and Christen buries her face in her crossword so that Sydney won’t see the way her eyes are prickling with tears.

-

Tobin doesn’t score in London.

Every time she gets close Christen’s breath gets caught in her chest and she can’t exhale until after. She can’t understand why she wants Tobin to score so badly, but she does. The only thing she wants more is to be on the field, but there’s something about watching them play that ruins that, too. She doesn’t mention it to Lori or Meghan or Jill, because she doesn’t know any of them well enough to talk to them much, and especially not about this.

The thing is, the team looks good. They look like a well-oiled machine. They work really well without her, enough that she can’t imagine where she’d even fit. The truth is that she doesn’t fit. Pia knew it, and now Christen knows it, too. She doesn’t fit on this team, just like she doesn’t fit into Tobin’s life.

She wishes it didn’t all come back to that, but it does. Everything comes back to Tobin, with her narrow shoulders and slouchy socks and absolute refusal to wear her shinguards the way she’s supposed to. Tobin is doing more than fine without her. The team is, too.

Even during the Canada game Christen never doubts that they’ll win--she only wonders how long it will take. Meghan paces nervously through the entire extra time period, but as soon as Heather gets the ball into the air Christen knows it’s going to be a goal. She’s screaming before the ball hits the back of the net. Meghan uses her hands on Christen’s shoulders to vault herself into the air and Christen zeroes in on Kelley jumping into Tobin’s arms.

For the rest of that night everyone walks around Alex like she’s some kind of celestial being. Christen gets it but she’s never been more jealous of anyone in her life. Something about the way everyone looks at Alex brings out the worst in Christen, the ugliest, pettiest parts of her personality that she tries so hard to bury. It’s so bad that when Kelley comes looking for her, the relief of someone looking for her and not Alex almost makes Christen cry.

“Chris,” Kelley says, collapsing into Christen’s side on the bus back to the hotel, “I’m dead inside.”

“Kel,” Christen says, patting her thigh, “you might be half-dead outside, too, after that.”

“I thought Alex was gonna kill that girl when she took me out,” Kelley says. At the mention of Alex’s name Christen’s stomach twists. Across the aisle Alex has fallen asleep with her head resting against Tobin’s shoulder. Tobin is laughing at something that HAO is murmuring in her ear from the seat behind.

“Hey,” Kelley says, tugging the sleeve of Christen’s jacket, “pay attention to me, you’re supposed to feel bad for me, I was trampled by a Canadian like three times my size.”

“She’s not _that_ big,” Christen says, and realizes that she never took her hand away from Kelley’s thigh after all. Kelley smiles at her and Christen lets the sudden, warm feeling in her chest start to grow.

-

Christen cries when they win.

She’s not surprised. She doesn’t think anyone is surprised. Still, she’s the only one in the box who cries, and it’s embarrassing because she’s not sure exactly why she’s crying. It’s not that she’s sad she’s not getting a medal or down on the field; she’s past that. It’s not just that she’s so happy for Kelley that her heart feels like it’s going to burst, though that’s part of it. It’s not entirely Tobin either, even though Christen notices the way Tobin looks up to the sky during the anthems and wonders what she’s thinking about. There’s something else that she can’t put her finger on, and the longer she can’t name it the more it scares her.

The only thing that makes it better is Kelley.

Kelley, who finds her after the game and slings an arm around her shoulders and smacks a messy kiss to her cheek. Kelley, who pours her a plastic flute of champagne even though Christen did nothing to get them that champagne in the first place. Kelley, who’s glued to her side even once they’re standing on some stage somewhere yelling along to ‘We Are The Champions,’ who leans back into Christen even though Christen’s not the champion of anything.

Kelley likes her anyway. Kelley makes Christen feel like there’s something to like.

Christen loops her arms around Kelley’s waist because she’s afraid Kelley will fall if she doesn’t. When it becomes clear that’s not what’s going to happen, she leaves her arms where they are because she likes the weight of Kelley leaning against her and she’s sure Kelley will remove herself any second anyway. Except that Kelley doesn’t. Instead Kelley dances with her, moving them both to the music, and Christen feels something she hasn’t since before her first Tobin dream, that first moment Tobin turned around and it felt like the beginning of something, like water swelling under a ship. 

Kelley leans her head back against Christen’s shoulder. 

“It’s bullshit that you don’t get a medal,” she yells over the music, against Christen’s jaw, “I want you to wear mine. Will you wear mine?”

Christen isn’t thinking about the medal, or how badly she wants to hold it, or how it would look around her neck. She’s thinking about Kelley falling asleep on her couch when the roster came out, about Kelley hugging her in the airport before her first call-up, about Kelley’s mouth and the freckles across the bridge of her nose, and how she wants to kiss them both. 

“Kel,” Christen yells back, “no, not here, not right now, okay?”

“Later,” Kelley replies, curling her hand around the back of Christen’s neck, half-twisting in her arms, “you promise? I wanna see it on you.”

Christen doesn’t ask her why. Kelley is pretty drunk. _Christen_ is pretty drunk, so she’s not sure she could make sense of it even if Kelley explained herself. She loses Kelley briefly later, and thinks maybe the deal is off or Kelley forgot or it was a joke all along, but when she sobers up enough to know she wants to go to bed, Kelley catches her in the courtyard outside the USA House with a hand on her wrist. 

“Hey,” Kelley says, “you have to try on my medal, you promised.”

Christen takes a second to drink it in. Kelley is in a dress, which is rare but really works for her, especially floor-length like this. It’s humid, though, and Christen feels gross and sticky, and not at all like an Olympian, much less an Olympic champion. 

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, and lets Kelley, still buzzed and bright-eyed, fill in the blanks. 

“Hey,” Kelley says, “no, Chris. Listen, you deserve this. I’m serious.”

“I didn’t play,” Christen says miserably, all of the last month’s resentment and grief and disappointment coming out in three words. She’s embarrassed for more reasons than she can count. For one, she sounds like a child; Kelley is offering her something nice that she’s turning away because of her feelings. 

“It’s not about playing,” Kelley says, reaching for one of Christen’s hands to squeeze it, “it’s about being here. And you were needed here.”

Looking into Kelley’s eyes, Christen almost believes it. The idea of being needed—in London, in America, or at all—is such a novel feeling that Christen wants to chase it, wants to bottle it up and take it everywhere with her. 

“I needed you here,” Kelley finishes, mistaking Christen’s silence for indecision, “and you deserve a medal for that.”

Christen wants to kiss her. 

“Okay,” she says, reminding herself of the number of people around them who might know who they are, “but not here.”

Maybe part of it is just that she wants to get Kelley alone. Maybe that’s a lot of it, and maybe she doesn’t need to pretend otherwise, maybe Kelley knows it even before they step out of the elevator and into the hallway, and maybe that’s why Kelley takes Christen’s hand and leads her to her room, the room she shares with Alex Kelley waits until the door closes to turn on a lamp, but it’s still not a lot of light. She stands toe to toe with Christen and gently puts the medal around Christen’s neck, like they’re on the field and the anthem is playing.

When Kelley pulls away, Christen decides she doesn’t really want to see the way Kelley is about to look at her. Instead she takes Kelley’s face in her hands and pulls Kelley close to kiss her, but just before their lips meet she loses all her confidence and freezes. It’s not like she’s asked if Kelley wants to do this. She could be reading into things wrong. God knows she’s done it before. 

Kelley follows through. She holds Christen’s elbows in her hands and closes that last bit of space and kisses Christen like she wants to, like she means it, and it’s exactly what Christen needs. 

They fumble undressing each other, but Kelley is so earnest, pressing her open mouth against Christen’s neck and chest, laughing when Christen almost tumbles over trying to kick away her pants. They’re just in underwear by the time Kelley tugs Christen onto the bed, and only then, with Kelley’s fingers pressed into Christen’s shoulders, does Christen feel like she has things she needs to stay. She needs to explain a lot to Kelley—maybe not Tobin, but the idea of her, the idea that there’s someone, that they can’t actually do this—but Kelley kisses her again and Christen forgets. It’s easy to do, like this. 

She doesn’t remember again until after, damp with sweat and breathless, tapping her fingertips to ‘We Are The Champions’ along the ridge of Kelley’s hip. 

“We can’t do this,” Christen says.

“Alex won’t be back tonight,” Kelley says, “we can do whatever we want.”

Christen likes that idea. The guilt is creeping in, but she _does_ like Kelley, and she wants to be sure that comes across. Kelley is her best friend. 

“Just in general,” Christen says, “not tonight. It’s not like I don’t—I mean…”

Any confidence she had is gone now and she knows that Kelley can tell. She feels like she should tell Kelley to cover up, like she doesn’t deserve to see Kelley like this anymore. Kelley doesn’t seem to agree or care at all about how naked she is or the likes they’ve crossed tonight, but she doesn’t seem drunk anymore, either. She reaches over to kiss Christen, her hand lingering on Christen’s neck, and smiles at her. Christen can’t tell if Kelley’s smile is sad or if she’s making it up. 

“I know,” Kelley says, and Christen believes her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin starts to get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys so much for the feedback, I'm a busy bee so I may not always respond to them but I always see them and always appreciate them!

Tobin maybe keeps tabs on Christen in Sweden. 

It’s not weird. If it were anyone other than her it wouldn’t be weird at all. Christen is her competition, sort of; her teammate, maybe also her friend in a way, or at least someone she wants to be friends with. Obviously she understands why Christen doesn’t want to be friends, but she still keeps track of Christen’s team on social media. Just in case. Just because. 

She’s bored in France. A little lonely. She doesn’t really have friends at PSG, which she sort of expected, but she didn’t expect the weird dichotomy of women being into her and wanting her to pretend that they weren’t, and she’s exhausted trying to keep up with whether she’s supposed to be into it or not. That inevitably leads her to thinking about Christen, about how easy things are supposed to be with your soulmate, about whether Christen would ever slip into her bed at night and act like they don’t know each other in the morning. Tobin doubts it. Christen doesn’t do anything halfway. 

They haven’t shared a dream since before the Olympics. 

Christen has scored 25 goals in as many games with Tyresö. 

Tobin can’t help but wonder if those two things are related. 

That’s the real reason she doesn’t ever try to get Christen’s number from Kelley—Christen has played better since Tobin has given her space—not because Tobin is afraid of her. For that same reason, she feels guilty hoping they’ll dream together again soon. She still doesn’t want to be with Christen like she’s supposed to want to be with Christen, but she wants something. She isn’t sure what. She wants to have the option. She’s aware of how fucked up it is. She’s also aware that God isn’t the one she should be asking to forgive her. 

She asks anyway. And then, that night, she dreams. 

-

“It’s been a minute,” Christen says. 

“Yeah,” Tobin says, “sup?”

She hates herself. Christen is from LA. The surfer boy thing isn’t going to fly with her the way it flies with French girls, or UNC girls, or literally anyone else, but it’s an instinct at this point. Tobin is not surprised that Christen looks unimpressed. 

“Where are we?” Christen asks, and Tobin stretches out her legs. 

“In my locker room,” she says, “in France.”

“This is insane,” Christen says. 

It is. It’s ornate in a way Tobin has only ever seen men’s locker rooms before, for sports like college football, or NHL teams. It makes her feel important. 

“It’s a lot,” Tobin agrees.

“You’re getting paid a lot,” Christen says. It’s not a question, and Tobin almost asks if Christen knows how much. She’s pretty sure that _she_ doesn’t know. Instead, she shrugs. 

“You’re scoring more,” she says. 

“It’s a different league,” Christen says, looking away. And then, “it’s not a competition.”

But it is. They both know that. 

“There’s gonna be a US league again,” Christen says eventually, “will you go back?”

It never occurred to Tobin not to. France always felt like a pit stop to her, like a scenic detour. She can tell that Christen doesn’t feel the same way about Sweden without having to ask. Christen carries herself differently now. Her shoulders are straighter and something about her eyes is harder. She looks like she doesn’t need Tobin or anyone else. She looks good. 

“Yeah,” Tobin says, “will you?”

Christen thinks about it before she answers. 

“I feel like I have to,” she says, “if I want a World Cup. If I want the Olympics.”

There are probably politics like that, and it doesn’t surprise Tobin that Christen has a handle on things like that. She’s never thought about it and she doesn’t want to start now. There’s time, a few years before she needs to worry about making a big roster, and right now she just wants to play and not _think_ about anything else. The problem is, since her first dream about Christen, she hasn’t been able to hide from the world on the pitch anymore. If she resents Christen for anything it’s for waking her up to the world outside her bubble.

Christen turns her head to look at Tobin, and Tobin is left wondering if she needs to breathe in a dream. She must, because she can tell she’s holding her breath. Christen’s eyes are a shade of green that Tobin didn’t think eyes could be. She wonders if they’re that green in real life, but she knows she’s never looked at Christen long enough in person to have the answer.

“Guess I’ll see you there,” Christen says, and before Tobin can answer she’s awake in her own bed, alone.

-

She’s not sure about Portland until she gets there. It takes her a week of wandering around before she decides she never wants to leave, and the feeling terrifies her because she’s never felt it before. She must be getting old if she’s thinking about doing something like signing an actual yearly lease. But why not, when Portland just _gets_ her?

“It’s the vibes,” she explains to Kelley, who immediately laughs at her. 

“You’re not pretentious enough for Portland,” Kelley says, and the fact that Tobin feels vaguely defensive tells her exactly how fucked she is. 

It helps that she has Alex. 

Kelley is jealous and that makes Tobin feel bad about how much she loves being Alex’s temporary roommate, but it is actually Tobin’s favorite thing about Portland other than the soccer. They fall into an easy rhythm like they’ve lived together for years. Alex falls asleep on the couch and Tobin wakes her gently and harassed her into going to bed. Alex wakes up on time and makes coffee and harasses Tobin into getting up so they won’t be late. They do everything together, except when Servando is around, and then Tobin wanders aimlessly around town until he leaves, because when he’s there the apartment feels like his home and not hers. 

“You know he’s her soulmate, right?” Kelley asks her one night, over the phone. Alex is snoring softly on the other end of the couch, but Tobin still feels like she needs to whisper. 

“Yeah,” she says, “so?”

“I just wondered,” Kelley says, “since you’re, you know. Like, in love with her.”

Tobin can feel the blood rush away from her face. It’s not Alex she’s thinking of with her heartbeat in her ears, though—it’s Christen, who Tobin has done a good job forgetting about. It’s been a while since the last dream.

“I am _not_,” Tobin hisses. She’s not in love with Christen, either. She’s not entirely certain it’s something she’s capable of. What she does know is that she doesn’t care either way. 

“Okay,” Kelley says, “relax, we all are.”

“Not you,” Tobin blurts, still feeling panicky and resentful, “you’re in love with Christen.”

It’s kind of a shot in the dark. Christen doesn’t talk to most of them, but she’s close with Kelley, so it’s an easy mark. Not to mention Christen is gorgeous, so anyone could and should be into her, at least a little bit. Mostly Tobin wants Kelley off her back, because she knows very well that Serv and Alex are meant to be, and she’s also not stupid enough to think her preoccupation with Alex is anything more than a distraction from the Christen thing. The thing that makes every hair on her body stand on end all over again. The thing she hasn't told Kelley about, and the thing she's guessing Christen hasn't, either.

“At least Christen doesn’t have her fucking soulmate hanging around,” Kelley says. Tobin almost hangs up on her. Instead she manages to swallow, and then she does it again, and eventually she stops feeling like she’s been punched in the chest. 

“Serv doesn’t bother me,” she says, which is true. When Kelley doesn’t answer, Tobin closes her eyes. 

“Sorry,” Tobin says, but it’s Christen’s face she’s imagining, not Kelley’s. 

“It’s fine,” Kelley says, “I started it, I shouldn’t have made fun of your Alex thing. If anyone gets it, I get it.”

Tobin thinks Kelley probably doesn’t get it at all, because _she_ doesn’t exactly get it, but she doesn’t want to say that. She just wants things to go back to normal. She wants to go back to thinking about what restaurant Alex is going to drag them to. She wants to go back to forgetting about Christen, even if just for a few days at a time.

“I remember when she had her dream about Serv,” Kelley says.

“Me too,” Tobin says. 

She hadn’t really noticed much at the time, but now it makes her sad. It makes her sad seeing them together, too, but it has nothing to do with Alex, or how Tobin does or doesn’t feel about her. It’s easier to let Kelley think that she’s sad because she wants Alex. And even though the idea of Kelley and Christen makes her feel something tight and unpleasant in her stomach, something about Christen at least having someone around makes her feel better. It makes her feel less guilty.

“I’m not in love with Christen,” Kelley says, “Christen is not in love with me.”

Those feel like very separate statements. Tobin wants to talk about anything else.

“I was kidding, dude,” Tobin says, even though she wasn’t, “see you in Florida, right?”

-

Christen scores twice in Miami.

They’re beautiful goals. Both times it makes Tobin feel something she can’t explain, something a little too close to being turned on. She attaches herself to Pinoe for the rest of the night, pretending she’s lost her key card and needs to be with her roommate, and avoids Christen’s glow. It’s not that she doesn’t want to see it. She can barely keep herself from staring, but she doesn’t feel like she deserves to look at Christen like this, like if she’s not careful she’s going to ruin it.

Christen’s seat is right in front of hers on the flight from Miami to Atlanta. A baby cries somewhere behind them and Christen twists around in her seat to look. She looks concerned and apologetic, not annoyed like Tobin is expecting, and when Christen notices Tobin watching her she smiles just the smallest bit before she turns back around. Tobin thinks about it for the full hour and a half, and when they touch down again she makes herself stop.

The night before the game in Atlanta, Tobin heads for the roof. Carli is her roommate and has been on the phone with her husband for ten minutes, and Tobin wants to give Carli space but she doesn’t want to see anyone else. She’s pretty sure she’s not actually supposed to be on the roof terrace after sunset, but the door is unlocked so she doesn’t overthink it. She’s just starting to relax on a bench in the quiet when the door opens and she startled, thinking she’s about to get yelled at. When she turns around it’s just Christen. In a way that feels like it could be worse. 

“Oh,” Christen says, “sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be up here.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tobin says, “I don’t even know if I’m allowed.”

“I asked the desk,” Christen says, “they said it’s okay until eleven.”

Christen _would_ ask. 

She hesitates, and Tobin unfolds her legs.

“Do you want me to go?” Tobin asks, and Christen pauses again before she shakes her head. 

Tobin looks back out at the city while Christen settles on a bench across from her. There’s no skyline here, not really. The city’s not big enough for them to have a hotel in midtown and still see the outline of other tall buildings. It’s weird how that makes Tobin miss Portland, which isn’t a particularly big city, either. 

“I want to be friends,” Christen says suddenly, startling Tobin again. She’s blushing when Tobin cranes around to look at her again. It’s just light enough on the terrace for Tobin to see that, unless she’s imagining it, but the way Christen’s avoiding eye contact tells her she’s not. 

“If you want,” Christen continues, quietly.

Tobin doesn’t know what she wants. Tobin never knows what she wants. Tobin hardly even knows what she wants to eat, when it’s not already decided for her by Thorns or the national team or Alex.

This is the first time she’s ever been alone with Christen outside of a dream. It hits her like a ton of bricks and leaves her breathless, even with Christen a full five feet away from her. The idea of being friends with Christen terrifies her--if she feels like this with Christen so far away, how will she feel when they do things that friends do?--but Christen already looks so sad, and Tobin is so tired of watching her from far away, and maybe being friends will make the dreams feel better.

“We can be friends,” Tobin says. It had been her idea once. She hasn’t forgotten that.

Christen beams at her and Tobin’s heart beats so hard against her breastbone that she thinks Christen would be able to hear it, if not for the fire truck that goes by thirty stories below them, drowning out everything else. 

-

Christen scores in Atlanta. It’s an exclamation point, a beautiful one, and Tobin leaps up from the bench and screams like it’s not the eighth goal of the night. She’s in good company, though; it’s the kind of goal that gets everyone’s hearts pumping, and Tobin can already imagine it being on highlight reels for weeks. 

As great as the goal is, Christen’s smile on the Jumbotron is even better. Tobin is almost glad she’s not on the field, because being a part of the celebration, being that close to Christen _that_ happy, feels dangerous, like staring directly into the sun. Supposedly they’re friends now, but Tobin still feels shy trying to talk to Christen after the game; Kelley is hanging off of her and dragging Christen off to say hi to the O’Haras and Tobin doesn’t want to be obvious, doesn’t want to waste any of Christen’s time or make her smile go shy. Christen is always self conscious around her, Tobin can tell—and she doesn’t blame her. She knows exactly what she did to cause it. 

Tobin doesn’t see Christen before she goes to bed, but she does dream. 

-

“Oh,” Christen says. 

They’re at a table in a coffee shop. It’s a place in Portland that Tobin recognizes. She’s never been in, but she’s walked by a million times. It’s a date spot, which is exactly why she’s never wandered inside. 

“What’s up,” Tobin says. 

“Um, not much,” Christen says, “I mean, we’ve been in the same place for a while because of the national team so...you basically know already.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean what’s actually up,” Tobin says, “just like, hi.”

She’s never had this much trouble talking to someone before. She’s never been great at talking, but she’s also never had trouble with charming people into liking her anyway. Christen won’t look at her, and it’s driving Tobin nuts. 

“Hi,” Christen says, holding the coffee in front of her by the handle of the mug. She inspects it, then briefly makes eye contact. 

“Think I can drink this in a dream?” Christen asks. 

“Um, Tobin says, “no? But then if you can you’ll be caffeinated and won’t sleep.”

Christen puts the coffee mug down. Tobin can feel how badly Christen wants her to say something, and it makes her overthink it. Maybe she can’t give Christen what she wants, but then again Tobin doesn’t _really_ know what Christen wants. It’s been years. Maybe Christen doesn’t want her like that anymore. Tobin isn’t about to ask. 

“That was such a sick goal, Press,” she blurts instead. Then, because that feels wrong, she corrects herself: “Christen.”

Christen finally looks at her. Her smile is shy but not closed off, and Tobin wants to bottle the feeling of being responsible for it. 

“You can call me Chris,” Christen says, and Tobin wakes up grinning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The World Cup is difficult, on and off the field.

This time, Christen makes the roster. 

Kelley is with her, the two of them huddled up on the lip of Christen’s parents’ pool with their feet dangling in it, each holding the other’s phone. They know the calls are coming; Alex already got hers. They’re trying to talk about anything else. 

“Would you rather feel like you have to sneeze constantly for the rest of your life, or burp at the end of every sentence?” Kelley asks. 

“The first one,” Christen says, “nobody needs to know. Plus I think I’d get used to it.”

“No way,” Kelley says. “Would you rather have feet for hands or hands for feet?”

“Feet for hands,” Christen says quickly, “can’t kick a ball with hands for feet.”

Her phone rings in Kelley’s hand, and Kelley almost fumbles it into the pool when she hand sit over. She’s giggling when Christen answers, and Christen can hear it over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She knows Kelley is nervous, even though she can’t imagine Kelley _won’t_ be with her when they finally get to the World Cup. When she hangs up, her cheeks hurt from smiling, and Kelley squeals and throws her arms around Christen’s shoulders. 

In a way it’s like nothing ever happened in London. It’s been years, and Christen doesn’t feel anything about it now, now that she’s worked through her guilt and her shame and whatever else. Kelley has clearly gotten over it, too, because things feel the way they always felt and Christen is so relieved that she thinks she might cry. She’s vaguely wondering if Tobin has been called yet when Kelley gets her own phone call, and now it’s Christen’s turn to laugh while Kelley claps a hand over Christen’s mouth so that Jill won’t hear her. 

-

She dreams of Tobin that night. 

She slips into the dream in a daze, and when she’s aware of her surroundings for the first time she realizes that Tobin’s hand is in hers. They’re lying on a hill in a field she doesn’t know. Tobin is asleep in the dream, which seems unfair. Christen tugs Tobin’s hand, and Tobin ‘wakes’ up. She blinks sleepily at Christen, who resists the way her heart feels at the look on Tobin’s face. 

“Oh,” Tobin says, “dude, hey.”

Christen lets go of her hand. 

“We’re going to Canada,” Christen says. 

“World Cup,” Tobin says, grinning, propping herself up on an elbow, “You ready?”

Even in the dream her shirt stretches over her shoulders, and Christen wonders if her hair is as soft as it looks. These, she knows, are not thoughts you’re supposed to have about your friend. 

“Born ready,” Christen says, smiling back.

“You know,” Tobin says, “I believe that.”

Christen isn’t sure why that hits her so hard. She rides the wave, trying to harness the confidence she felt in the moments after Jill hung up the phone earlier, the feeling that she can do all the things she thought she couldn’t. 

“I’m glad we get to go together this time,” she says. For a moment she’s afraid it’s too much, but then Tobin’s smile softens. 

“Me too,” she says, “I want to win with you.”

-

Christen has never doubted whether or not Tobin remembers their dreams after the fact, but Tobin is so different the next time Christen sees her that she really understands, for the first time, that the dreams have an affect on Tobin too. 

Tobin, who can’t play in San Jose.

“It’s not a big deal,” she tells the group of players clustered by the bench, “they just don’t want me to fuck it up. It’s just hamstring tightness. I could play on it if I needed to.”

“Good thing you don’t need to,” Abby says, patting Tobin’s shoulder. Tobin glances up and Christen smiles at her, and when she does Tobin looks away. Christen’s feelings would be hurt except that she can see that Tobin’s smiling at the corner of her mouth, and it occurs to her for the first time that Tobin doesn’t want Christen to see her upset--but that doesn’t mean Tobin’s not capable of feeling it.

That knowledge, maybe, is what makes Christen look for Tobin on the bench when she assists Abby’s first goal. She just wants to see if Tobin’s cheered up at all, if she’s smiling. She's not sure what she would do if Tobin wasn’t, but she doesn’t have to think about it because Tobin is smiling, and watching _her_, not Abby, or at least that’s how it feels. Or maybe that’s just how Christen wants it to feel.

After the game, Tobin finds her and gives her a low five. Her fingers linger against Christen’s palm, and Christen’s heart aches remembering the last dream and Tobin’s hand in hers. 

Maybe she’ll never have that. But she has this—for now, she has soccer, and Tobin is a part of that, and maybe that’s enough. 

-

The night before they leave for Canada, Christen is hoped up in Kelley’s room. Alex is Kelley’s roommate but she’s out with Servando, and Christen is curled up on Kelley’s bed, reading while Kelley channel-surfs. 

“I should go to bed soon,” Christen says. 

“You’ve said that ten times,” Kelley says. It’s an exaggeration but not by much. Christen doesn’t want to leave. She knows she won’t sleep well, but she feels like she’d sleep better here, with Kelley. She’s just thinking about how safe she feels when Kelley mutes the TV and turns to study Christen in a way that makes her anxious. 

“Press,” Kelley says, “I was wondering.”

“I hate when you do that,” Christen jokes drily, but Kelley doesn’t laugh.

“You haven’t had your dream yet,” Kelley says, “have you?”

Christen hesitates just a second too long.

It’s not like she never entertained the idea of someone really asking her, someone that she would have to answer. She had never gotten far enough to decide if she was going to lie about it or not, and now she’s taken too long to decide in the moment and the choice has been made for her. Kelley’s expression changes from confusion to surprise and then from hurt to anger, and Christen shrinks back into the pillows. She’s not afraid of Kelley. She’s afraid of what she’s done to Kelley.

“Christen,” Kelley says.

“It’s not a thing,” Christen says quickly, “it’s not happening, it never did and it’s not going to, so I never brought it up.”

“How long?” Kelley asks, and then waves off her own question. She twists to sit cross-legged facing Christen and now her brows are creased with concern.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and Christen almost cries right there. This isn’t about her hurt, though, it’s about Kelley, so she sucks it up.

“I’m fine,” Christen lies, “I got over it.”

“Who are they?” Kelley asks, “do you know them?”

Christen is faced with the opportunity to lie again. She doesn’t take it. The truth is, Kelley is going to find out eventually, and telling her now is better than lying and living with the guilt through the rest of the tournament, and her life.

“She’s someone I have to see enough that it was hard to get over,” Christen says vaguely, “but I got over it, so we might as well just act like I haven’t--like I don’t--”

“Who is it?” Kelley asks, placing her palms on Christen’s knees, “do I know her? I know her, don’t I? It’s someone on the team.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Christen says, “she doesn’t want to--we talked about it and--it doesn’t matter. Kel, it doesn’t. We don’t have to do this now.”

“No,” Kelley says, “we don’t have to, but--if someone _here_ did that to you--”

“Tobin didn’t do anything to me,” Christen snaps. It happens without her meaning for it to happen. She’s trying to defend Tobin, though she’s not really sure why because Tobin did turn her down and it did hurt and it still does sometimes. But things are better now. Tobin is her friend and her teammate and Christen loves her however she’s allowed to, and Kelley looks...like she wants Tobin’s blood.

“_Tobin?_” Kelley hisses.

“She didn’t do anything,” Christen says, “she just didn’t want to and that’s okay.”

“Didn’t?” Kelley asks, and Christen catches her own use of the past tense.

“I don’t know,” Christen says, “yeah, didn’t. It was a while ago, I don’t know how she feels now, but it doesn’t matter. I’m fine about it and we play well together and that’s what matters right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Kelley says, placing her head in her hands, “I’m trying to wrap my mind around this. The fact that Tobin Heath is your soulmate and nobody did anything about it.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Christen squeaks, “she rejected me. I moved on.”

“To me,” Kelley finishes, lifting her head. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Christen says. The panic is rising in her chest, making her ribs feel like they’re crushing her lungs. She’s never cared less about Tobin than she does in that moment, when she reaches for Kelley, taking her by the wrists and squeezing until Kelley makes eye contact with her. She can’t read Kelley’s expression and it terrifies her. 

“Kelley,” Christen says, “it wasn’t like that. What happened with us happened because we wanted it to. Because I was into it and you were into it. It had nothing to do with Tobin.”

“So you did know about her before London,” Kelley says.

“Yes,” Christen says, “but _it doesn’t matter._”

“I think I deserve the whole story,” Kelley says, tugging free of Christen. She doesn’t leave, though, and Christen clings to that. 

“You do,” Christen agrees, “and you have it. The night before my first senior camp we had the first dream. By the end of that camp I knew she didn’t want me. And it hasn’t even come up since. It seriously hasn’t. If we didn’t play together I would never, ever think about it.”

Except that they do play together, and Christen still dreams of Tobin, and every time she does it drags her harder downward into a spiral she doesn’t know how to stop. The worst part is that Tobin isn’t with her in that. The second worst part is that she thinks she’s lost Kelley now, too. 

“She never clarified?” Kelley says, her voice shrill, “she just let you live in this fucking—this weird limbo?”

“It’s not limbo,” Christen says.

“So she’ll never want you like that,” Kelley says, “and that’s a thing that you know because she told it to you.”

The idea of that level of finality makes Christen feel sick. She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. 

“I’m gonna kill her,” Kelley says, sliding off the bed and getting to her feet.

“Kelley, no,” Christen says, “just leave it.”

Kelley, one foot in her flip flops, hesitates.

“Not now,” Christen begs her, “not during the tournament, if you have to say something wait until after, please. Please, we’re playing so well together, she’ll just clam up. I want this. Please.”

When Kelley toes off her flip flop and turns back around, she takes Christen’s face gently in her hands, and Christen realizes that she’s crying. She hates crying, and she hates crying over Tobin even more. It’s not the first time, and every time it happens she swears to herself it’s the last time, but she’s realizing she’s going to have to accept the fact that she can’t control it. The fact that Tobin wouldn’t want her to cry about it just makes it worse. Tobin is too gentle to want _anyone_ to cry. It has nothing to do with Christen in particular. It’s not like Christen specifically being sad would bother her any more than if it were Kelley who was sad.

“Chris,” Kelley says, looking into her eyes, “I want you to know that the only reason I’m letting her live is because you asked me to.”

“We can’t win a World Cup without her,” Christen says.

“She is not that good,” Kelley replies, dropping her hands.

“She is,” Christen argues.

“Unfortunately,” Kelley sighs.

-

Christen feels good against Australia.

They go into the second half tied at one but she’s not anxious like she expected to be. She feels good, she feels light, she feels agile, like she’s faster than she was the day before. Maybe that’s because Kelley is helping her carry the weight of the massive secret that Tobin seems to forget so easily. Maybe it’s just that she _is_ faster. Whatever it is, she’s not nervous at halftime, and she’s not nervous lining up for the second half.

Kelley is sitting next to Tobin on the bench, which makes Christen feel better, because if Kelley had decided to say something to Tobin they definitely would not be sitting together.

When Sydney starts the run up the left wing, Christen follows up the center. Halfway through she realizes that she’s too fast and holds herself back, just hesitating long enough to let Sydney fall into line with her, and then when Sydney cuts in Christen’s defender cuts too, expecting Christen to _go_ and God she wants to go but she waits, and then--the pass is at her feet.

All she has to do is step in.

When the ball hits the back of the net she turns, arms thrust open, deafened by the crowd. She runs right to Lauren and jumps into her arms, and Lauren catches her and laughs in her ear, and then it’s Meghan and Ali and Christen just closes her eyes and lets them mob her. Seven minutes later she hears Tobin call her name from the sidelines and she almost trips over her own feet.

It’s just a sub, of course, of _course_ it’s just a sub. She feels good, like she could easily run out the last twenty minutes, but Tobin deserves a shot and Christen knows she deserves the rest. It’s hard to make eye contact with Tobin while Kelley is staring them down from the bench, hiding whatever expression it is she’s making behind her water bottle. Christen holds her hands up for Tobin to high five them, and Tobin does, but then she places her hand on the top of Christen’s head.

“Nice goal,” she says, leaving her hand there, just for a second. 

“Good luck,” Christen says, as if Tobin needs anything, luck least of all.

When she takes her spot next to Kelley on the bench, Kelley pats her knee.

-

Christen and Sydney start together against Sweden, and it feels good for the first forty-five minutes. After the half Christen can feel the old anxiety creeping back in, and the way it builds in her stomach reminds her of college. She feels like she can’t get a good, deep breath in, like there’s a pit in her stomach that’s weighing her down, taking up space. But she doesn’t feel it in her chest yet, it’s staying put, so maybe it’s just regular nerves and tension. 

Seventy minutes in she comes off again and Abby comes on. Abby does not look at her like Tobin did. Abby doesn’t look at her at all; her eyes are already on the field, assessing, making plans, by the time she pats Christen’s backside distractedly and takes her place on the field. 

There’s a spot between Tobin and Kelley on the bench. It seems like a very obvious spot, like a spot that was made specifically for her to sit in. When she does, Kelley opens her mouth, but Tobin speaks first.

“You had a good chance just then,” Tobin says.

“Oh,” Christen says, “yeah, I guess.”

If she had hit the ball a little to the right--elevated it a little more--

“I would have left you in,” Kelley says, but it doesn’t sound like she’s agreeing with Tobin, it sounds like she’s one-upping her. Tobin is ignoring Kelley when Christen glances at her. When Tobin smiles at her, jiggling her knee up and down, Christen forces herself to focus on the field.

Nobody scores. It feels bad. It feels like the opposite of the game against Australia, like one misstep against Nigeria, as unlikely as it may feel, would ruin them. And Christen can’t stop thinking of that chance that Tobin pointed out, the could-have-been-a-goal chance. 

It’s four days before they play again. The pit never goes away. Kelley isn’t talking to Tobin, and it seems like Tobin has finally noticed. She doesn’t leave Alex’s side, and Christen hates that. It’s not like Tobin and Alex weren’t already close, just that Christen notices more now, and she knows it’s all in her head. Something about the way she sees Tobin has changed since the send-off games. She doesn’t want to think too hard about it.

So of course, instead, she dreams about it.

-

They’re on a beach. 

Christen is wearing a bikini that she knows she doesn’t own in real life. She’s lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. Tobin is wearing a wetsuit peeled down to her hips and a sports bra, and she’s lying on her back, propped up on one elbow, looking at the water. She doesn’t see Christen at first, and Christen hates herself for taking the opportunity to look.

She has no idea if Tobin has this six pack in real life. She’s never let herself look. Even the girls she’s slept with she’s never looked this intently at, which is probably why she feels so guilty. Except, it’s not Tobin’s real body. There’s no way Tobin looks like _that_ under her stupid baggy t-shirts. There’s no way.

“Hey,” Tobin says, without turning her head, and Christen realizes that Tobin knew she was there all along.

“Been a minute,” Christen observes uselessly.

“Kelley knows, huh?” Tobin asks, as if Christen hadn’t spoken at all. It’s not an accusation, just an observation, but Christen cringes anyway.

“I didn’t mean to tell her,” Christen says, “she asked--it’s a long story, I don’t think you want to know.”

Tobin turns her head to look at Christen, and the absolute calmness there drives Christen crazy. She wants to grab Tobin by the shoulders and shake her but she’s not sure if she can touch Tobin at all in a dream.

“Chris,” Tobin says, “you can tell whoever you want, it’s okay. If you wanna tell Kelley, you can tell Kelley.”

“Um,” Christen says, “she’s like, really mad at you.”

Tobin nods, then shrugs.

“I think she’s jealous,” Tobin says, “but it’ll be okay.”

“Jealous of _what_?” Christen asks, finally truly seething, flipping over so she can sit up and face Tobin directly, “there’s nothing here to be jealous of. She knows that. We all know that.”

Tobin looks briefly stunned, and Christen is annoyed about how good that feels.

“Jealous because she likes you,” Tobin says, “and now she knows you’re not her soulmate.”

“I wish I was,” Christen spits, and then she wakes up, two rooms away from Tobin, hands fisted into her blankets.

-

Tobin starts against Nigeria. Christen does not. She sits next to Kelley on the bench, so close that their thighs are touching, and tries to avoid looking at Tobin, even when Tobin has the ball. It’s hard, almost impossible, especially when Tobin gets taken down hard enough that Kelley stiffens next to her.

When Tobin gets up and the other girl takes a yellow for her trouble, Kelley exhales.

“She’s fine,” Kelley says, as if she’s annoyed that she was even worried about it. Christen feels the same way. She reaches over to pat Kelley’s knee the way Kelley always does for her, and Kelley gives her a look that makes Christen feel like she should keep her hands to herself.

Abby scores and it’s like, for a moment, Christen can forget everything else. Even when Tobin comes to the bench Christen doesn’t have to think about it, not until after, until they’re squeezed together in the elevator and Tobin won’t even look at her.

Good. Christen doesn’t _want_ Tobin to look at her.

They don’t get out of the game against Colombia without getting pushed around a little, but at least Christen gets to play again. She and Tobin play fifteen minutes together, and by the end of the game they’ve both softened enough that Christen’s not mad at her anymore. It’s not Tobin’s fault that they got saddled with each other. For all Christen knows, maybe Tobin was projecting about Kelley. Maybe Tobin really does like Alex, and has to live with the knowledge that Alex will never be her soulmate. 

And maybe Christen just can’t stay mad at her. All it takes is one sheepish, crooked smile from Tobin in the postgame huddle, just the barest hint of an apology, and Christen is sucked right back in.

The night before the quarterfinal, she’s reading and trying to empty her brain when Tobin knocks on the door. Carli is Christen’s roommate but she’s off somewhere, God knows where, doing whatever it is Carli needs to do to prep. Nobody asks her; Christen understands better than anyone what it’s like to need your space. She’s expecting someone looking for Carli when she gets to the door--maybe Hope--but it’s Tobin, holding a bar of chocolate in one hand, looking appropriately ashamed of herself.

“Oh,” Christen says.

“Can I come in?” Tobin asks, and when Christen hesitates, she hands out the chocolate bar like a peace offering.

“Just for a second,” Tobin says, “I promise, then I’ll leave you alone.”

Christen lets her in. She’s too paranoid that someone else will walk by and see this, whatever it is. She’s afraid _Kelley_ might see it. Tobin only takes a step inside, and Christen takes the chocolate just because she’s convinced Tobin will keep holding it out until she does.

“I just came over to apologize,” Tobin says.

“About the dream?” Christen says, and Tobin shakes her head.

“No,” she says, “I mean, yeah, but not just that. I shouldn’t have said what I said about Kelley because it’s none of my business. And it’s none of my business because I _made_ it none of my business a really long time ago. So if she’s--if you’re--I don’t want you to feel like you can’t…” Tobin gestures vaguely, turning pink at the tops of her high, high cheekbones, “you know. You should get to be happy.”

Christen has absolutely no room to process anything that’s just been said. She manages to grab onto the thing that she’s the most equipped to deal with and compartmentalizes all the rest for later, knowing she’s going to be up half the night trying to understand it all.

“We’re not,” Christen says.

“Okay,” Tobin says, “um, that’s--I mean, like I said, it’s none of my business, so--”

“We did once,” Christen blurts, “in London, but it’s not like that.”

Tobin can’t make eye contact now, and Christen doesn’t feel as vindicated as she expected she would when she decided to tell Tobin about London. Actually, she feels like she betrayed Kelley’s trust, which she hates. 

“You should,” Tobin says, twisting her hands deep into the pockets of her joggers, “if that’s what you want. If it’ll make you happy. That’s all I meant.”

“Okay,” Christen says. She thinks Tobin is done, but instead Tobin takes a deep breath and keeps going.

“I think I knew I couldn’t do that,” Tobin says, “like, I know we were really young, but I guess I knew I couldn’t make you happy the way I was supposed to. I’m not looking for reassurance or fishing for compliments,” she says quickly, glancing up when Christen opens her mouth, “I’m just not cut out for that stuff and it’s okay, except that it’s not fair to you and...I never said any of this before. And I should have. So I’m sorry.”

Christen lets it hang there for a moment, because it has to settle. Tobin eventually looks up, and Christen is at a loss for words. She wants to kiss Tobin so badly that every single muscle in her body aches. Instead she fumbles with the wrapper of the chocolate bar and breaks off a corner. When she hands it out to Tobin, Tobin smiles down at the floor again and takes it.

“Thank you,” Christen says.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tobin says, and then she’s gone, and all that’s left is the chocolate. 

-

Tobin starts the next game, and Kelley does, too, so Christen is left on the bench alone. Well, not alone, obviously, but not having either of them feels strange. Carli scores just after halftime off of a wild header that makes them all lose their minds, and when Christen comes on for Kelley ten minutes later they’re all still buzzing.

“Go get another one,” Kelley says, squeezing Christen’s hands instead of giving her the normal high fives.

Christen doesn’t, but it doesn’t matter. She gets to play a full half hour and she feels good about it even if she doesn’t score. She feels like she meshes, even with Tobin on the field, and she’s so relieved about it that her cheeks hurt from smiling an hour after the game.

She doesn’t play against Germany. She spends most of the game next to Kelley on the bench, trying to calm her nerves, knowing that if she could just get onto the field she’d feel better about it. She can’t control anything, all she can do is watch, and when Kelley finally gets subbed on Christen reaches for her hand and squeezes it.

“Go get another one,” she says.

And Kelley does.

-

The final feels like a dream.

By the time Carli scores her second goal, five minutes into the game, Christen is already losing her mind. By the time Carli gets her hat-trick, they all are. Even Christie, who is usually so calm, is barely holding back a look of gleeful disbelief for most of halftime.

They’re up 4-1 at the half. 

Tobin scores the fifth shortly after and Christen leaps up from the bench with half of her teammates, screaming herself hoarse. After the game, surrounded by fluttering confetti and the booming sound-system, Tobin hugs her, and Christen throws her arms around Tobin’s neck and hugs her back. She clings to that moment, the most perfect moment of her life, and knows without having to ask that it’s the best that she’s ever going to get.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Olympics is where everything falls apart—and where it all comes together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this I was not planning on writing something so long, but I got carried away by these two and ended up here. It’s been wild. Thank you guys all for your comments, i appreciate them (and you)! Go listen to “Must Be Good” by I Said Yes while you read this

They make it all the way through the victory tour without another dream. Tobin knows she should be relieved, but actually she misses it, misses the excuse to be alone with Christen even for a moment. It’s not a privilege she’s earned in real life and not something she’d ever ask for. She knows better. 

But just because she and Christen aren’t in each other’s dreams doesn’t mean that she doesn’t dream about Christen.

It’s easy to tell the difference, though. It’s easy to tell that Christen isn’t actually there. The night before the final Victory Tour game in New Orleans, Tobin has a normal dream about Christen. Normal in that Christen never needs to know about it, but it’s not normal. Not for her.

She can count the number of times she’s woken up in the same bed as another girl on one hand. In her dream, she wakes up in a bed that she knows is Christen’s, though she’s not sure _how_ she knows. She gets up and leaves the room and Christen is in the kitchen making coffee with her back to Tobin. Tobin watches herself go to Christen and wrap her arms around Christen’s waist. Christen twists in Tobin’s arms, warm and content, and kisses the smile off of Tobin’s lips.

When Tobin wakes up, she slips out of the room, leaving Lindsey still asleep, and the first person she sees at breakfast is Christen, writing in her journal.

Tobin takes a bagel and some orange juice back to her room and eats her breakfast without turning on a light.

-

Alex invites them to LA for New Years.

Tobin thinks about not going. It’s hard to be around Alex and Servando, even though she feels nothing for Alex now. Well, not nothing, but it’s not like it was. It’s still awkward, and she still can’t connect with Servando, and trying to make conversation with him just feels pointless. On top of that, things have been weird with Kelley since Christen told her, but the idea of sitting around New Jersey until she has a better reason to leave is worse than the idea of being in LA.

And LA isn’t bad. Not immediately.

“Tobs,” Alex says the first night, looping her arm around Tobin’s shoulders, “you know I love the shit out of you, right?”

“She knows,” Kelley says, propping Alex up with Alex’s other arm around her neck.

“I’m not drunk,” Alex says. 

“Nobody said you were drunk,” Tobin says.

“She’s using her Drunk Alex Voice,” Alex says, pointing at Kelley.

“Well,” Kelley says, “that’s because you’re trashed.”

“I’m going to bed,” Alex says, lurching forward. It takes both Tobin and Kelley to get her into bed, and when they’re finished Tobin is tired enough that she flops onto the couch in the living room and covers her eyes with the back of her arm. She doesn’t even think about Kelley until she feels the couch dip and realizes Kelley is sitting almost on top of her. She opens her eyes and Kelley is glaring at her.

“What?” Tobin squeaks.

“You know,” Kelley says, “I know that you know that I know.”

“Kelley,” Tobin says, “come on.”

“You come on,” Kelley says, “you’re so full of shit, you know exactly what you’re doing. I thought you were better than this.”

Tobin rolls off of the couch and slips into her flip-flops. Kelley follows her into the guest room, and Tobin, who has only seen Kelley this mad a handful of times in their lives, knows that there’s no avoiding her, not really. Still, she has to try. She feels guilty enough without Kelley hounding her, and she came to LA partially to forget about Christen for a moment, just a moment, before they have to get ready for Olympic Qualifiers.

“I am not,” Tobin says, “sorry to disappoint.”

“God,” Kelley says, “shut up. Do you hear yourself? Seriously, do you not understand--anyone would be so lucky to have what you have.”

“I don’t have anything,” Tobin says calmly, rummaging in her suitcase for her toiletry bag so she can brush her teeth. 

“You have an opportunity,” Kelley says, “which is more than a lot of us have.”

Tobin stands up straight, forcing herself to sink her heels into the ground the way her mom always tells her to do, and looks Kelley in the eye. It’s weird to remember that she is, actually substantially taller than Kelley, when she stops slouching. It’s weird for both of them; she can see Kelley re-evaluating things, even if her crossed arms say otherwise. 

“I didn’t ask for it,” Tobin says, “and I can’t do it, and she knows that, and I already apologized for it. I’m just not--I’m not cut out for it. Not with her or anyone else. I wouldn’t even know how to start.”

It occurs to her for the first time that she was probably right about Kelley being in love with Christen, and that maybe half of why Kelley is so mad at her is because Kelley’s jealous. Tobin hates it, it makes her feel worse, makes her want to crawl out of her skin. For a moment she wishes she could switch places with Kelley, but then she imagines Christen as Kelley’s soulmate and she hates that even more. She doesn’t get to feel possessive like that, but the feeling is still there, even if she admonishes herself for it. Christen is _hers_. 

“You are full of shit,” Kelley says. Her voice breaks when she does, and Tobin faces too many conflicting urges for her to actually do anything. She wants to reach for Kelley and comfort her, but she also wants to run away. She wants to switch places with Kelley, but she also wants to call Christen right now.

“The only thing standing in the way of you being the person she wants and you now is _you_,” Kelley says, “you’re making up excuses like you’re not capable because you’re scared of it. But eventually she’s gonna need you to grow up.”

Tobin turns away and sits on the edge of one of the guest beds. She remembers her last dream, the one without Christen, where everything seemed so easy, so normal.

“She doesn’t need me,” Tobin murmurs.

“She does,” Kelley insists, “she’s just good at hiding it.”

“I’m going to disappoint her,” Tobin says, fighting back the tears that she refuses to cry over this, her own stubbornness, especially in front of Kelley.

“No offense, babe,” Kelley says, taking a seat next to Tobin and patting her knee, “but you could not possibly disappoint her more than you already have. And she still loves you. So do something about it.”

“Not now,” Tobin says, “not like, today. Tomorrow. I mean, the Olympics...she’s playing so well, I don’t want to fuck that up for her, I don’t want to distract her.”

Kelley actually does consider that. She gets very quiet and takes her hand back, and Tobin stares at the floor and tries to imagine what she’d even say to Christen if they were alone together.

“Okay,” Kelley says, “that might be the first mature choice you’ve made this entire time.”

“I did apologize to her,” Tobin repeats, but Kelley ignores her.

“But listen,” Kelley says, “if you don’t do something about it within...three weeks after the Olympics ends, I’m going to murder you, and Alex will help me hide the body.”

Tobin considers that to be fair.

-

She does not know how Christen has waited this long. It’s driving her insane. She’s terrified to say anything to Christen at all, but now that she knows she’s going to, she wants to do it _immediately_. But she can’t. They’re in Texas and they have to try to qualify for the Olympics, which should be but isn’t a given. The whole point of avoiding Christen in the first place, four years ago, was to avoid fucking up the soccer. 

It seems like it would be hard to fuck this up.

They breeze through the Qualifiers opener against Costa Rica. Christen comes in with fifteen minutes left, replacing JJ, and Tobin gets distracted watching Christen take the field, shouting Jill’s directions. When she gets her head back in the game, it’s easier than she thought to forget who Christen is, exactly. They’re all just parts of a machine. 

That’s what she’s thinking when she gets the cross off. Only once the ball has left her foot does she really process that the person she picked out is Christen. Christen’s first touch is magic; somehow she twists the ball across her body, turns and fires, and then the ball is in the back of the net and they’re all yelling. Tobin gets to be a part of the celebratory hug, and their faces are very close.

That’s almost as good as the win. And they keep rolling. It gets easier not to say anything because not only is Christen playing well--she scores again when they play Puerto Rico and flatten them--but Tobin can feel that she’s playing better, too. It takes until the semifinal for her to score. Mal finds her and Tobin would normally wait, try to collect the ball, but instead she takes the shot without hesitating and it goes in. Lindsey is on her in seconds, patting the top of her head, telling her what a sick goal it was, but over Lindsey’s shoulder Tobin is still looking for Christen’s reaction on the bench.

-

Christen is in her dream the night before the final.

They’re in New Jersey, on Tobin’s high school soccer field, and it’s a lot like the first dream--Tobin standing at the edge of the box looking at the net, without a ball. This time she hears the sound of a boot hitting the ball before she hears the sound of Christen’s voice.

“Heads up Tobs,” Christen says, and Tobin turns over her left shoulder, just in time to receive the pass. She stops the ball at her feet and smiles at Christen. Then, when Christen smiles hesitantly back, Tobin remembers how they left things in person, and the fact that Christen has no idea what’s been going through Tobin’s head.

“Are you nervous?” Tobin asks, because talking about soccer is the safe thing to do.

“Are you?” Christen replies, and Tobin smiles, popping the ball up onto the top of her foot so she can juggle it.

“Nah,” Tobin says, “I never get nervous before games anymore, been doing it too long. Plus we’re already qualified, this is just bragging rights.”

“Not really,” Christen says, “I mean, it does matter.”

Tobin pops the ball up onto her knee, and then the top of her head, before she drops it at her own feet again and passes it back to Christen.

“You never answered my question,” Tobin says. 

Christen takes a few steps back and nails the ball directly into the top right corner of the net. She watches the ball roll back out of the goal mouth when she answers, and Tobin doesn’t miss that Christen won’t make eye contact.

“I’m always nervous,” Christen says, “before every game, even the little ones, even the ones I know we’re supposed to win by five goals.”

Tobin isn’t sure what to say about that. Not having the ball at their feet makes it worse, because they’re both just standing there, not looking at each other. Tobin wants to reach for Christen, but she’s not sure she’s allowed to.

“I never would have thought that,” she says instead. Christen turns to glance at her, and Tobin tries to smile reassuringly.

“Really?” Christen says, “I thought everyone could tell.”

“No,” Tobin says, “you always seem really… in control.”

Christen doesn’t answer her, and Tobin realizes how sad Christen’s expression is only seconds before Christen turns away again, walking after the ball. 

“It’s a good thing,” Tobin calls out after her, but she can already tell that the dream is ending before she’ll get a chance to explain herself. When she wakes up it occurs to her that’s because it’s the kind of thing she needs to say in person--but not yet. First they have another game to win.

-

The game against Canada is, as always, frustrating. Canada is physical with them like always, but tonight the refs seem determined to ignore it, whether it happens in or outside of the box. The only person who doesn’t seem to be feeling the frustration is Lindsey. It helps that Lindsey is bigger than almost anyone on the Canadian team, and that she’s young enough to bounce when she hits the ground.

It also helps that she’s hungry.

Not that Tobin isn’t, not that they _all_ aren’t, just that Tobin can feel that Lindsey wants it more. She sits quietly at halftime while half the team chatters around her, and when Tobin reaches out to push at her knee and make her look up, Lindsey makes eye contact with her but doesn’t smile the way Tobin has come to expect since Paris. Instead she rubs her hands together and rests her elbows on her knees.

“I just need one more shot,” Lindsey says, “just one more.”

“We’ll get you one,” Tobin says. 

The shot comes, maybe surprisingly, off of a cross from Becky. It doesn’t even look like that dangerous a cross, half because Becky almost never comes up this far but she’s frustrated like the rest of them. Tobin’s not really sure about the physics of how Lindsey gets her head on the ball. She’s definitely not sure about the physics of how Lindsey flicks her head and makes the ball go in, but she doesn’t need to understand. All she needs to know is that the ball is in the back of the net.

She gets deja vu later when Mal makes her run; she remembers vividly how she scored off of that run a few days before and makes the same move she did before, expecting someone to cover her, expecting them to have at least seen the highlights of the game before. But nobody covers her. She’s just there, right where she needs to be, right where Mal knows to find her. 

Like before, Lindsey is the first one to get to her, and Tobin closes her eyes this time, surrounded by her sweating, cheering teammates. 

-

The physical distance from Christen does help.

Tobin still thinks about her, but it’s a dull roar instead of the constant ache that she’s gotten used to. They don’t share a dream again, and Tobin doesn’t dream about Christen, either; her dreams are all about the Olympics, or the beach, or normal things she’d usually dream about. It’s almost as if, by promising herself that she’ll eventually do something, she’s been able to let go.

Almost.

The night before they leave for Rio, they’re all clustered together in a hotel in New York. This time, Christen is already on the rooftop terrace.

“So we’re cool to be up here?” Tobin asks.

Christen turns over her shoulder, then smiles briefly at Tobin before she turns back to look at the skyline again, shimmering in the distance.

“I dunno,” Christen says, “I didn’t ask.”

“Wow,” Tobin laughs, “living on the edge.”

She joins Christen at the railing, leaning on her elbows. Christen is wearing a hoodie even though it’s still pretty warm at night during the summer, tucking her hands into the sleeves. There are a hundred things she wants to say and a hundred things she _should_ say and none of them overlap, so she says nothing. 

“Is Kelley still mad at you?” Christen asks, and Tobin ducks her face into her own shoulder to hide her expression in case Christen spares her a glance.

“Uh,” Tobin says, “no. I mean, yes, but not like…_as_ mad.”

“It was a good apology,” Christen says, “you can tell her I’m not mad at you.”

“I don’t think she’s worried about you being mad at me,” Tobin admits, “I think she thinks you’re too nice to me.”

It’s Christen’s turn to laugh, quietly, crossing her arms. She does look at Tobin though, and Tobin drinks that moment in, the two or three seconds of eye contact before Christen turns away again. Christen has always been pretty and Tobin has always noticed it, but it’s something different over the last six months, something more refined and more intimidating.

“Do you think I’m too nice to you?” Christen asks, and Tobin can feel her fight or flight response kick in, only it’s pretty much entirely ‘flight’. She’s as terrified of Christen now as she was when she showed up to the airport and saw Christen the night after their first dream. 

“Yeah,” Tobin says, “you definitely are.”

“I don’t see it,” Christen admits. 

“You’re too good,” Tobin says. She had wanted to say that Christen was too good for her, but that felt like crossing a line. Now she’s sure she’s fucked it up again; that Christen thinks she’s talking about soccer, which she’s not, for once.

“Are you calling me a pushover?” Christen teases, and Tobin can feel her ears burning. Luckily it’s too dark outside for Christen to notice. She hopes. 

“No,” Tobin blurts, “I just meant that I’m disappointing and you’re always nice to me anyway, and that you don’t have to do that, but you do it anyway.”

Christen turns to lean against the railing facing Tobin now, and suddenly the space between them is too small. Before Christmas Tobin wouldn’t have noticed, but now she does, she notices every painstaking detail of the moment. She’s halfway through memorizing the set of Christen’s jaw when Christen speaks again. 

“You’re not disappointing,” Christen says. 

Tobin’s eyes dip from Christen’s eyes to her lips. She can’t help it, especially not with Christen standing so close to her and being so nice to her. _Too_ nice. She regrets it immediately and looks up sheepishly, but when she does Christen’s eyes are on _her_ mouth and Christen is swaying in, closer and closer, until their breaths mingle. Then it’s as if Christen comes back to herself. She rocks back on her heels, out of Tobin’s space, and tucks her hair behind her ears. 

“Um, goodnight,” she says, and then she’s gone and Tobin is alone on the roof, kicking herself. 

-

Something feels off about Rio as soon as Tobin steps foot on the ground. She tells herself it’s just her--just a hangover from whatever last night was, that moment where she really thought Christen was going to kiss her--but she knows better after the first hour. Something just isn’t right. They’re not nervous enough. They’re all on completely different emotional pages. She considers bringing it up but she’s not sure who she’d even talk to about it now that there’s no Abby on the roster, no Lauren, no Amy, no Christie. It’s probably just her own nerves, anyway.

She believes that all the way through the first game. They play pretty well against New Zealand, but still when Alex doubles the lead after halftime it feels like a weight off of Tobin’s shoulders. Alex goes out after the 80th for Christen, and Tobin tries not to watch her too obviously as she comes on. She’s not sure what she’s afraid of anymore. Kelley is probably watching her, as always, but it’s not like she cares if Christen sees her looking, and it’s not like anyone else is going to say anything to her, either. Not in the middle of the Olympics.

It turns out that, as always, she has underestimated Alex Morgan.

“Tobs,” Alex says, sliding into the seat next to her on the bus, “come to my room tonight for a Norma date.”

“A date?” Tobin asks, and Alex raises her eyebrows.

“Is that a no?” Alex asks, and Tobin shrugs, but she can’t stop the creeping suspicion that she’s about to get herself in trouble. 

“Come on,” Alex says, nudging Tobin’s knee with her own, “you played a full ninety, you need Norma, we haven’t gotten to hang out since I got traded.”

“You got yourself traded,” Tobin points out.

“Yes,” Alex agrees, “but I’m still allowed to miss you.”

Tobin decides to operate under the assumption that Alex does, in fact, just miss her. It’s easier than trying to decipher what’s going on behind Alex’s perfectly-manicured eyebrows, and Tobin is tired, and she does really need a NormaTec break. Alex is weirdly cheerful when Tobin shows up, but Tobin doesn’t think anything of that, either, given that Alex scored such a nice goal earlier that day. She’s scrolling mindlessly on her phone when someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Alex says, “I propped the door open.”

She _did_ prop the door open, now that Tobin thinks of it. And that was weird, but Tobin has never thought that hard about the things Alex does, it would have made living with her impossible. She doesn’t look up until she hears Christen’s voice. 

“Hey,” Christen says, and Tobin looks up, startled. 

“Oh my God, thank you so much,” Alex says, “my hair is a disaster.”

“No problem,” Christen says glancing at Tobin and then smiling at Alex shyly, “this stuff is a life saver for me.”

Tobin is hoping that’s it. Christen is wearing shorts that are shorter than Tobin has seen her wear before, or maybe that’s just because Tobin is on the floor and has a really, really good view of Christen’s legs, which she’s _not_ taking advantage of. Not much. 

“How do you use it?” Alex asks, as if there aren’t directions on the bottle of whatever it is Christen just handed to her. 

“You can do dry or wet,” Christen says, steadfastly avoiding looking at Tobin, who feels like it would be rude to ignore her, “just put some in in your hands and rub it in. You can style after or just leave it.”

“Thank you so much,” Alex says, “I’ll bring it by tomorrow morning.”

“No rush,” Christen says, and they’re both just sitting there smiling at each other but Tobin knows she’s missing something. 

“Tobs, you could probably use some too,” Alex says, turning to grin at Tobin.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Tobin complains. Alex ignores her. 

“Don’t you think?” she asks Christen, who blinks at Tobin, slowly turning pink. She clears her throat and Tobin crosses her arms self-consciously. 

“Um, I dunno,” Christen says, “sure, I mean, the humidity…”

“Yes,” Alex says, “thank you, I keep trying to convince her to wear her hair down, it’s so pretty.”

Tobin has the distinct thought that she’s seen this scene in Mean Girls before. 

“Have a good night, guys,” Christen says quietly, and when she leaves, the only thing stopping Tobin from following is the NormaTec. 

“Don’t be mean to her,” Tobin hisses. From the bed, Alex cackles. 

“So you _are_ fucking,” she says. 

“No!” Tobin says, “I just don’t think it’s funny to be mean to people!”

But she’s bright red at even the implication of sex with Christen, and Alex is laughing hysterically now, so Tobin knows her protests won’t save her. 

“Please,” she says anyway, “just leave her alone, okay? It’s complicated and...fragile.”

“Christen Press,” Alex replies, “is not fragile.”

Tobin doesn’t know how to convince Alex that she’s wrong, so she doesn’t try. Instead she rests her head back against the wall and prays, just for a second. Then, when she opens her eyes to see Alex texting someone, she gets an idea. 

“Kelley will kill you,” Tobin says. “She almost killed me.”

Alex hesitates. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything to anyone,” Alex says, “I was just trying to make a point. You should make a move.”

“Not at the Olympics,” Tobin says. 

“You’re right,” Alex agreed, “that would make a gold medal too good.”

-

Tobin is exhausted by the 60- minute mark against France. When Carli scores she’s so relieved that she wants to cry a little bit, and it scares her because she doesn’t remember the last time she was this emotional during a game. She’s been running so hard game after game that she’s losing a step and she can feel it, can feel that if she’s not careful she’s going to be careless and hurt someone or make a mistake. But there’s no sub coming for her. She knows that, too. 

Christen comes in when Tobin thinks the game is ending. 

She doesn’t even get to touch the ball before the whistle blows, but when the game ends she lingers in Tobin’s periphery until they’re going back through the tunnel. 

“You okay?” Christen asks, and Tobin nods, even though she can feel the ache in her ankles and knees, the tightness creeping up the back of her calves into her hamstrings. 

“You?” Tobin asks, and Christen shrugs. 

“Yeah,” she says, “I mean, I wasn’t in for long enough to get pushed around like you were.”

Tobin doesn’t understand how or why Christen is checking on her when she must be frustrated about her lack of playing time. When Tobin is frustrated she avoids everyone, but Christen—who could be starting instead of her—doesn’t seem to be fishing for anything. She’s genuinely worried. Tobin doesn’t feel like she deserves that. 

“I’m good,” Tobin lies, and Christen nods and leaves her alone. 

-

“Who told Alex?” Kelley asks. It’s not a question, it’s an accusation. Tobin doesn’t open her eyes. Having Kelley as her roommate is impossible. She’s exhausted enough without feeling Kelley watching her like a hawk. She stays put, sprawled out on her stomach, breathing like she’s asleep even though it’s only eight. 

“Heath,” Kelley says, “I know you’re not asleep, you snore.”

“I do not,” Tobin mumbles, even though she’s not sure. 

Kelley sits directly on top of her and puts a pillow over the back of her head. Tobin counts to three before she rolls over, shoving Kelley off of her and whacking her in the face with the pillow, both of them laughing. 

“She figured it out on her own,” Tobin says, “I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t even tell _you_, remember?”

Kelley, red-faced and breathless, clutches the pillow to her chest and dangles her legs off the side of Tobin’s bed. It’s nice to not feel like Kelley is actually mad at her. It makes Tobin feel like she’s on the right track, maybe. She felt like she was, before Alex trapped Christen in her room, but she played kind of crappy against France—all those former teammates—and now she’s not so sure she’s doing the right thing. She can’t ask Kelley for reassurance, though. Kelley will just tell her that she should have grown a pair years ago, which Tobin already knows. 

“Sorry,” Kelley says, “I’m just...protective of her, I guess, ever since college. Everyone thinks she’s bulletproof.”

“Yeah,” Tobin agrees. 

They lay in silence like that for a few minutes, Kelley holding Tobin’s pillow to her chest and Tobin thinking about Christen, letting her mind wander, trying to conjure up the look in Christen’s eyes the moment before their almost-kiss. 

“Kel?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll find someone.”

-

Tobin doesn’t start against Colombia. 

She doesn’t play. She sits on the bench and feels guilty for being relieved. She’s still sore and tired and Colombia plays like a team full of wrecking balls, hard tackles and elbows and no concern for safety. Tobin realizes, twenty minutes in, that she’s really worried about Christen. Kelley can take a hit if she needs to, but Christen—Tobin’s not really sure and doesn’t want to find out. 

They do, though. Tobin watches as Christen gets bodied off of the ball, elbowed high in her ribs and sent sprawling. They get a free kick for it, but when Christen stands, holding her side for a few seconds, Tobin gets antsy. But Christen is fine. So fine that later, one on one with the same girl, she absolutely _burns_ her, dodging in and then out to dribble around the girl who’s stumbled and has to catch herself with both hands when she falls back. 

The whole bench erupts. 

They don’t win, and it’s the kind of ugly tie that feels like a loss. This time it’s Tobin that lingers, waiting until she and Christen are alone in the hallway—or as alone as they’re going to be—to speak. 

“You okay?” she asks, and Christen shrugs. 

“I’ll have a bruise,” she says, “nothing I can’t handle.”

“Better bruised ribs than bruised dignity,” Tobin says, quoting her high school coach, and Christen grimaces. 

“We have that too,” she points out. 

“Next game is the one that matters,” Tobin says, “and next game we’ll win.”

Because they have to.

-

The game against Sweden feels winnable. 

It feels winnable when they go into halftime tied at nothing. When Hope tells them how beatable the Swedish keeper is like they’re all supposed to suddenly be able to score on her with this new revelation. It feels winnable when they get back onto the field. 

It feels winnable even after Allie turns over the ball and Sweden scores. They have thirty minutes to tie and win the game; they’ve done that and more in less. Allie is the next sub, obviously; on the bench nobody tries to comfort her because they know she’ll just get mad, but Lindsey offers her a towel and a water bottle and Allie looks like she might cry. 

Pinoe comes on for Kelley and that’s the first time the game starts to feel desperate. Kelley is stone-faced when she finds her spot on the bench. They all know Megan’s not healthy, not even close to 100%, but maybe she’s close enough to get the ball in the net, just once. It’s all they need, just a chance to get things even again. Tobin runs so hard she can feel her throat going raw and wonders how she’ll do this again when they win and move on. 

Alex’s goal feels fortuitous and it makes Tobin nervous. Winning starts to feel more like an ‘if.’

Before extra time, Hope speaks as if she can read Tobin’s mind. 

“This is our game,” she reminds her, “and we will win it. Trust yourselves. Trust me. Work hard.”

Tobin can’t work any harder than she already is. Jill waits until Pinoe is limping to sub her off, and the rush of relief that Tobin feels when she sees Christen’s number on the sub board surprises her. They need Christen. Maybe _she_ needs Christen.

She never stops feeling like Christen is the answer. Not even after extra time expires and they start to converge for penalty kicks. Christen being picked to make the last one makes sense to Tobin—because she’ll score. She always does. Tobin has never seen Christen miss a penalty kick. 

Alex misses hers and Tobin feels like she might pass out. Lindsey is next—Lindsey who looks so young suddenly—and she makes hers, and Tobin screams herself hoarse even though she knows it’s far from over. Carli makes hers too because of course she does. Morgan makes hers and then Hope makes the kind of save that only Hope can make, and then—then it’s just Christen. Just a silent arena full of thousands of people and Christen, holding their hearts in her hands.

Tobin feels calm. 

Christen skies the shot. 

She crumbles immediately. Julie is the first to get to her, to tell her it’s okay, and she’s not the only one to say it but it’s a lie that none of them believe. Christen looks like she can’t quite process it, touching her fingertips to her temples. She goes back to her spot in the line, between Tobin and Crystal, and says nothing at all. 

Hope does something—some game she’s playing, some mind game involving her ‘ripped’ glove, a last ditch effort to salvage what they’ve failed to, but Tobin isn’t looking at her, she’s looking at Christen, whose hand is resting over her stomach. Hope doesn’t save them. 

A few of them start crying immediately. Lindsey is one of the ones who just starts leaking tears, and Tobin hugs her immediately, obeying the instinct from PSG that makes her want to take care of her rookie. By the time she’s finished comforting Lindsey as best she can, she realizes that she’s not processing anything at all, because she’s just looking for Christen. 

To their credit, the team does what they can to comfort her. Even Lindsey. Christen is teary but poised and stoic and everyone eventually leaves her alone, but Tobin notices the way that Christen’s hands shake, the set of her jaw. 

“Chris,” she says, when they start to trickle back into the tunnel. She says it again, and then a third time before Christen’s eyes focus on her. That’s when she sees the panic in Christen’s face. 

“I need to get out,” Christen says. When she says it again she’s practically begging—“I need to get out.”

“Okay,” Tobin says, “okay. Let’s—give me two seconds to get your sneakers, you don’t have to go to the locker room, just...I’ll meet you back out here, okay? Just stay here.”

She sprints to the locker room while Christen waits in the mouth of the tunnel, terrified that Christen will be gone when she gets back, but she’s not. Tobin slips into her flip flops and Christen puts on her sneakers and then Tobin leads them through a maze of people, friendly and less so, holding Christen’s hand to keep from losing her, ignoring every word that’s said to or around them both. She’s leading them down. Up will take them out into the sun again, where there will be people. She was smart enough to take her phone, tucked into the back of her shorts, but she doesn’t dig it out when she tugs Christen into an empty hallway and they sink to the ground, backs against a cinderblock wall. 

Only then does Christen start to cry. 

“It’s okay,” Tobin says, reaching for her automatically. She’s not expecting Christen to accept her touch, but instead of resisting it Christen burrows under her arm and presses her head into Tobin’s jersey, sinking down against the wall until Tobin is holding her up. She cries in quiet, broken sounds that make Tobin feel sadder than anything else ever has. 

“It’s not your fault,” Tobin tells her. 

“It is,” Christen insists. The front of Tobin’s jersey is damp with tears. 

“No,” Tobin says, “a whole team of us had to fail to score a goal for you to even be there, Chris. That’s how this works.”

Christen sniffs, but she doesn’t argue. With her eyes closed, Tobin is replacing every scoring chance she had, every opportunity she had to save Christen from being _here_. Christen says something into her collar that Tobin can’t make out. She squeezes her arm around Christen’s shoulders and opens her eyes. 

“What was that?” she asks, but Christen is trying to get her breathing even again, and she just shakes her head. Eventually she sits up, letting go of Tobin and wiping her eyes and face with her hands. 

“I wanted it too much,” she says quietly, wringing her hands in her lap. 

“What?” Tobin asks. She’s afraid to let Christen go, afraid she’s going to break into pieces without Tobin being able to hold her together. She’s never seemed more fragile than she does now. 

“That’s what I said—I wanted it too much,” Christen repeats, staring into the middle distance, “that’s how I ruin things. If I want it too much…” she trails off. 

“There’s no such thing,” Tobin tells her. 

“You can scare off the things you want,” Christen says, “if you want them too much. The way I do. Obsessively.”

“No,” Tobin says, realizing suddenly what it meant for Christen to wait for her, for Christen to want her for years without ever saying it the way she had in their first dream. 

“Christen,” Tobin says insistently, “no. You can’t scare off the things you want. The good things. They’ll find you.”

Christen doesn’t look convinced. In fact, Tobin has no indication of whether or not Christen has even heard her, because Christen is just staring vacantly into space. Tobin reaches for her, taking Christen’s hand and tugging it. 

“Hey,” she says, “they’ll find you.”

Finally, Christen turns her head to look at Tobin. They’re both resting their heads against the wall, so Christen turning her head leaves their faces much closer together than Tobin anticipated. Having Christen in her space feels right in a way she never let herself think about before. Even like this. 

Christen’s eyes drop to her mouth first. Tobin is surprised, but she’s not going to fuck it up a second time. This time she’s the one to lean in and close the space between them. Her heart stutters in her chest and she stops just short, waiting to see if Christen will push her away or disappear, but she doesn’t. She lets out a shaky breath against Tobin’s lips, and in response Tobin tilts up Christen’s chin and kisses her. 

Christen kisses her back. It’s soft and sad and not at all what Tobin imagined their first kiss would be like, in a dark hallway in the bottom of an arena in Brasilia, but it’s so simple, so easy to do. Tobin understands then that she’ll never stop kicking herself for the years she wasted _not_ doing this. When they break the kiss Christen drops her forehead to Tobin’s shoulder, and Tobin rests a hand on Christen’s knee. Neither of them speaks until Tobin’s phone starts to buzz. 

“My family,” she mumbles. 

“I’m sure mine is trying to get me too,” Christen admits. 

“I don’t want to deal with them,” Christen says, “I don’t want to deal with anybody.”

“Let’s go somewhere,” Tobin says. “Let’s go away.”

-

By the time they meet back up that night, Tobin has already booked them a hotel in Mar del Plata. 

Kelley is giving them space, having switched rooms so that Christen can be with Tobin, so they’re alone when Christen finds her. She sinks into the hug that Tobin offers and it’s like they’ve been doing it their entire lives. 

“It’s a three and a half hour flight,” Tobin tells her. 

“Okay,” Christen says. And then, “I’ve never been.”

Tobin pulls away from the hug to brush Christen’s hair out of her face. Christen has showered but hasn’t bothered with makeup and she looks exhausted. Tobin wants to wrap herself around Christen and only realizes after a moment that she can now, that Christen wants her to. 

“Me either,” she says, “it was the cheapest flight I could find to get us out of here.”

Christen cries again later, the two of them cramped in one bed, with her face pressed into Tobin’s neck. Tobin holds her through it and tells her all the things she knows Christen needs to hear and tells God that she’ll do this every night forever if it means she gets this second chance to do things right. 

-

The surf is perfect. At the top of the wave Tobin shields her eyes with her hand and can just make out Christen on the beach watching her. She rides the wave until it crashes and takes her time coming back to the sand, enjoying the water and the sunlight and feeling like she finally has her shit together, Olympics be damned. 

It’s a weird feeling. 

Christen is lying on her stomach when Tobin gets back to their spot, resting her head on her arms. Tobin peels her wetsuit away from her upper body before she flops down on the sand next to Christen and grins at her. 

“We dreamed this,” Christen realizes out loud. Tobin blinks at her, but then she remembers it, too. 

“Shit,” Tobin says, “I guess we did.”

Only this time, Christen comes up onto her knees, frames Tobin’s face in her hands and kisses her. This time Christen presses Tobin back into the beach, and they start again.


End file.
